


Kind Hearts

by MitzyBlue



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow To Update, Survivor Guilt, UA- Universe Alterations, guilt masterbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitzyBlue/pseuds/MitzyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From waking without memories to wishing they had none, Na'ila and Boone make an interesting pair.<br/>The documented adventure of courier six and Craig Boone. Buckle up cowboy-- cause this is going to be one wild ride so let's let those spurs jingle jangle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Error- Memories Not Found

 

 

 

Pounding pain. Skull feeling like it was stuffed so full that it might burst; her eyes began to flicker open. It was difficult to focus, but she could see a fan on the ceiling above her. It roved slowly in a circle along with a singular question. Why was she indoors? No memory.

Fear struck the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t figure out _why_.

“You’re awake. How about that.” The voice was male-- soft and comforting in it's tone.

Yet, even though he sounded nice, her nerves screamed habitual warnings. Body moving of its own accord, she rolled away from the person while trying to see who it was. Mouth dry, her lips parted and she tried to speak. Yet no words would form. Maybe she needed water? Something in her gut told her that was a common problem. Water was scarce.

Everything was a blurry haze in one eye.

“Woah, easy there. Easy. You’ve been out cold a coupl’ah days now,” the voice crooned.

She could see him now. He sat nearby on a rickety old chair. When he spoke, his big bushy mustache moved like a white fuzzworm and to some degree it fascinated her still disoriented mind. Leaning forward, he reached a gloved hand to steady her. When she cringed away from him, his hand withdrew and a sad frown flitted over his face. Eyes darting, she took in the appearance of his clothes- dirty overalls and a red scarf tied around his neck. No blood though. Maybe a good sign? No memory as to why it was important but she knew that no blood or spikes was usually a good sign.

He leaned back in the chair, hand open and held aloft in a non threatening manner as he spoke, “Jus’ relax a second. Get your bearings.”

Slowly, his hands settled on his knees while he waited for her to calm. When he seemed sure she was no longer panicking, he continued, “Le’s see what the damage is. Can ya tell me your name?”

Her eyes drifted over the room as she tried to remember.

Nothing.

No memories. It was like an empty house. She knew something had belong there once but nothing was there now. Walls stripped bare and the color worn from the rotting shag carpet. Something had been taken and the marks were still pressed into the floor where it had been, yet only that impression was left. It had all been ripped away from her. She focused on the man as a frown pressed it’s way onto her face. _Who was she?_   She could remember little things, like how she liked cactus pears, hated scorpions, and prefered brahmin milk in both her coffee and tea when she could get it. But for all her mind told her- she could not remember her name or any specific memories.

Shaking her head, she looked over the room again. Was this place safe? Where was she?

“Oh. Well… I’ll just call you Dot for now. That ok?” the man asked with a kind smile.

She shrugged- it was a strange name but she didn’t mind. Should she mind? … No. Something rattled in her empty feeling mind with a feeling-- names didn’t matter that much. It was who you _WERE_ that mattered.

 _But who was she?_ Was she good? Or had she deserved whatever had erased her memories? Had someone told her that about names? She almost thought someone had but the idea floated without a string to follow and she was left with only a vague sense that there was more behind it.

He nodded, oblivious to her mental wandering as he continued, “Well, Dot, I’m Doc Michell. The doctor of Goodsprings.” The so-called doctor stood and walked to pick up a small mirror from the desk. “Now I hope you don’t mind, but I had to go rootin’ around in your noggin to get all the bits of lead out,” he said as he walked back and sat down again.

She tilted her head in confusion. Lead? Could he be talking about bullets? She definitely remembered bullets. Had she been shot? ...Couldn't remember. Yet it made sense, of course... if she'd been shot in the head that could mean that she was less of a good person than she'd hoped to be. That or she ran into the wrong type of person... either way that didn't seem like a promising event.

“I take it you don’t remember what happened? Ah, well. I take pride in my needlework, but you’d better tell me if I’ve left your face in good enough condition…” Doc Michell handed her the mirror as he spoke and she stared into it.  Blue eyes stared back.

Touching her moon pale cheek she looked at herself. Her hair was a grey-ish blue. Running her hand through it she could feel that it was soft. A part of her mind told her that a mixture of hydra, Aloe plant, and Radscorpion venom was what she used to keep it manageable, but the mixture’s use had tinted her normally pale hair to the strange metallic bluish silver. She didn't mind. It was a nice color. Distinct. Her hand wandered over to the left side of her head where it was newly shaved and a jagged series of freshly sealed scars ran the length of her face. It curved around her eye and down her cheek. The eye on that side was glassy and a much darker blue that the other.  She squinted, the lighter eye was somewhere between pale blue and lilac. White lashes? Uncommon. Not many people like her but radiation twisted genes often enough.

“Sorry about the hair. Had to shave for the surgery. I also had to replace that eye. …are the optics on that one working ok? I don’t really have the equipment to test it anymore…” His question seemed to wander like a brahmin left unpinned.

She opened her mouth to speak again.  Silence. Had she used to speak? A part of her said yes. Once upon a time, she had loved to sing. Lovely nights of travel were made less dull when she would hum herself to sleep beside a bright fire. It paid for the occasional meal as well.  It was almost like a memory but when she concentrated- it slipped away just like the words that didn't seem to want to come out of her mouth.

Looking to him, she made a so-so gesture with her hand.

He nodded while stroking his mustache, “I’m ‘fraid it was my last one. Not much I can do about it, but at least it works. Hate to leave you completely blind.”

Nodding amiably, she returned her attention to the mirror. She knew the face for the most part. It was her own and came with a strong sense of self. Lush full lips. Wide eyes. Strong jawline with a petite chin. It was definitely hers… but it didn't answer the question of who she was.

She handed the mirror back and he went to set it on the desk again. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she was on, she sat and watched him. Her legs didn’t feel steady enough to support her yet so she settled with simply taking stock of how the rest of her felt and looked. Looking down, she found was wearing an overly large whitish tee shirt that had been slit in the back and tied. Tattoos and dark bruises on her wrists caught her attention until the doctor parked nearby. He stood with his hands on his hips as he spoke, “Well… no sense in keeping you in bed if you're feel ready to get up. I’ve got some basic tests for you to gauge how much damage that bullet did. Let me know when you feel ready.”

Lips parting she tried again. Once more nothing came out, so she just formed the ‘ok’ symbol with her hand. Frustrated. Perhaps that bullet knocked more than memories from her mind. Could words actually be knocked out of you? She wasn't sure but since that seemed to be the case...

Over the next few days she sat with the doctor and went through various tests. She-- according to the doctor-- surprisingly, knew how to read and write, some basic mathematics, and had no trouble moving fingers and toes. She was able to communicate with writing things down for him when he asked or by making simple gestures. They went over what she could remember and what she’d been found with.  It wasn’t much on either account. When the tests were finally finished on the fourth day and he left to prepare food for that evening, she took to slowly wandering around the well preserved house. Previously, the questions would tire her out too much to do much beyond stare into space, pretend to read, or sleep. This evening was different. For once she still felt alert and even a little like she just needed to be doing more.

When the doctor finally returned, she was immersed in fixing a small broken gun that she’d found sitting atop a crate. He set her food down nearby with a chuckle and said, “If you can fix it, you can consider it yours. I’ve got a few more things I might be able to give you as well. Once we eat, we’ll talk. Or…well… I’ll talk.”

She glanced at him, a brief nod her only available reply before she went back to work. Eventually, she finished- a small rock had gotten jammed in the loading mechanism and bent one of the pins. The gun clicked properly when she tested the trigger and she gave an approving nod.

Doc Mitchell picked up the gun and looked it over, “Impressive. Well at least I know you’ll be able to take care of yourself…  Alright, I guess we should find you some clothes. The ones you were brought in with were ruined but I’ve got some of my wife’s old stuff. She was nearabouts the same size as you, so you’re welcome to take what you want. No reason to hold on to it myself really…”

It was the next day when she had picked a few things from the wardrobe and was ready to go. They stood by the front door as he handed her a small notepad and a few pencils, “This won’t get you far but you’ll need to be able to talk to people. Well, those that can read anyhow. Also,” He opened a little device and motioned for her to stick out her arm, “This is called a Pip-boy. I grew up in one of the vaults they made before the war. We all had one. Has a nifty feature but it doesn’t always work proper. Type in some text and it will read it aloud.”

She put her arm out hesitantly and he clicked it around her wrist while saying, “Ain’t much use to me, but you might find it handy.”

Struggling to write without a table, she shakily scrawled her thanks onto a page of the notebook.

He read it and smiled, “Aw, don’t mention it. It’s what I’m here for. I mentioned Sunny Smiles right? She might be able to help you find where you’re supposed to go. Maybe give you a little work to get you on your feet.” The doc sighed and rubbed his chin, as he continued, “You ever get hurt out there or need a place to stay- you come right back. I’ll fix you right up, but try not to get * _killed_ * anymore. Yeah?”

She grinned, teeth bearing with her amusement, and nodded at him before turning her attention to checking over her pack. He’d been kind and given her some basic supplies and a few bottlecaps for trade in combination with the old courier gear that she'd been found in. It was not long before she was blinking in the desert sun outside of the doctor’s house.

Shading her eyes, she glanced around to get a lay of the town.

Northeast there was a general store and saloon. Wooden signs squeaked as they waved and tumbleweeds danced by on the wind. Southeast had a collections of run down houses and a bright red abandoned school building. It seemed... familiar but like everything else she couldn't remember ever having been there.

With a sigh, she headed down the hill towards the Saloon. If she was to get anywhere she would need to talk to Sunny who may or may not have a job. Even though the doctor had been generous, the supplies he had given would not last her very long and she would need to purchase more things before officially heading out.

She rubbed her nose as she walked- the dust was made her want to sneeze. Or howl. It was a strange combination but it felt comfortable and familiar in her chest.

 

~~~

 

Sunny was a sweet girl.

Dot thought she might have flirted with the girl if she'd able to talk, but for most of the past couple days silence had stretched between them. They had hunted Geckos and then made camp at the outskirts of town when the sun began to set. Thankfully, Dot had been able to communicate by simple hand signals with the ginger haired girl since her notepad proved useless. Sunny, as it turns out, couldn’t read. Dot didn’t know how to work the pipboy well either --though she fiddled with it in the evenings-- so the little arm computer wasn’t an option. Blessing or curse- when finding that Dot couldn’t talk, Sunny had kept up most of the conversation in the evenings while they ate roasted gecko in the fading light. Occasionally Sunny’s dog, Cheyenne, would beg for a piece of gecko by nosing at their elbows. Dot had taken a liking to the dog and happily fed her little scraps.

“Well… I’m going to sleep. Cheyenne will wake us if anything gets near. We can head back to town in the morning now that this area is clear,” Sunny said with a stretch.

Dot nodded. She was already comfortably leant against a log beside the fire and feeling rather drowsy herself. The dog wandered, greedily looking for more scraps and Dot felt herself begin drift off. It had been a good couple of days but then again she had nothing to compare it to besides her time with the doctor. Had she had good days outdoors before this? Probably. She definitely liked it better than the rather dark and strange smelling old house-- no offense to the doctor.

The morning was not quite cold when she woke, but mist hung in the air and the fire had died. Over the horizon light could be seen from behind the hills and Dot fiddled with her Pip-boy as she woke.  She'd been trying to gain some sort of familiarity with the object since she was sure she'd need it. Thankfully, it was not very difficult to work and she had noticed earlier that it told time.

5:40am.

She sighed and looked to the still sleeping Sunny. The girl was out cold. Rifle cradled in her arms like a babe, she was actually giving soft snores. Cheyenne was asleep nearby but her eye cracked open when Dot moved. Standing, Dot stretched and walked to where they had gathered the bodies of the geckos. Drawing her knife she began the process of skinning the creatures. Her hands knew the way but she couldn’t remember why or when she’d learned.

 

~~~

 

Dot pulled the hat she’d bargained for lower. The doctor had helped her find clothing to protect her from the sun after the pipboy had flashed some medical warning. _Skin condition? Whatever._ Didn’t matter what it was as long as she kept the sun off her skin. Maybe she’d start traveling at night instead. Might be safer anyhow. People can’t shoot someone if they can’t see them and something told her that animals weren’t _usually_ a problem for her.

Still, the snuffle of an animal had her drawing her knife- no sense in not being careful.

A hunter gecko waddled by with his mouth full of radroach and she grinned at the sight of him. Beady eyes glanced her way as it continued its trek. She wasn’t a worry for him and he had no problem with her as long as she didn’t steal his food. The knife went back into its sheath and she continued her plod down the road as she stretched and enjoyed the day. The giant roller coaster was her goal- Sunny and the doctor had pointed her in that direction since her old clothing had possibly been that of a courier and she wanted to see if someone there knew who she was. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that she had definitely been a courier. It sounded right. The idea felt right.

The canteen bumped against her hip as she picked her pace up to a jog. An encampment of soldiers in brown were beside the little village. Brown was good. Red was bad. Something told her she’d worked for brown before. What were they called? The thought twisted like a ribbon caught in the wind as she approached the nearest soldier on guard.

“Halt.” The soldier hadn’t aimed his gun at her, but it was still in his hands as he looked her over, “This area is closed due to escaped convicts who’ve taken over the town.”

Her brow furrowed and she brought her pipboy up to fiddle in search of the world program she'd found the previous night. She hand't used it yet but she thought she understood at least the basics of _how_. After awkwardly turning a dials for an uncomfortable amount of time it finally broadcasted what she wanted to ask, “ _convicts ‘enquiry quotation’ can ai help ‘enquiry quotation’._ ” She winced at the tinny, male, mechanical voice that was broadcast. She’d have to look into getting that changed.  Too creepy.

The soldier scowled at her, “enquiry quotation, ma’am?”

She held up her right hand like a ‘C’ and held a fist below it. Maybe he’d get it. Maybe she’d have to dig in her pack for her paper.

His scowl only deepened.

An annoyed shout came from the overwatch tower nearby where the soldier's partner was stationed, “Fuck. Rob, it’s a fucking question mark you dense idjit.”

Dot glanced up with a tight lipped grin and a nod to the woman in uniform who was perched watching them. With Dot's god eye she could see just a shock of blond hair shaved short was just under the little cap the soldier wore.  A ranger?  

The ranger woman glanced towards the town as she spoke in her heavy drawl, “An' if you want to help, you might do to talk to lieutenant Hayes.”

Dot nodded and shifted her pack. Talk wouldn't happen but she’d see him anyhow.

The soldier who’d first accosted her tagged along beside her with a disgruntled look. His cheeks were flushed a dark red but he wasn’t sweating. Embarrassment? Maybe…? Dot tilted her head and looked more openly. Maybe it was instinct or some old ghosts of memory but something told her that heatstroke could make people look like that. Unclipping her canteen, she stopped and offered her water out to him. His rich brown eyes flicked between her and the water. They stood, awkwardly staring between each other and the offered canteen for longer than Dot felt comfortable with.

“It’s cause you look like a tomato you dingus!” crowed the woman from the overwatch again. Dot tilted her head and gave him a flash of a smile and nod.

Scowling, man pushed the water back towards Dot while shouting back to his partner, “who’s to say she isn’t a legion spy trying to poison me?”

Laughter floated over the wind from the woman before she shouted, "Why would she ruin a perfectly good canteen when she could just stab your dumb ass?"

A good point. Valid. Dot decide that she liked the Ranger more than she liked the paranoid soldier boy even if listening to them was entertaining.

Dot watched the sparse smattering of soldiers that they passed with a careful eye. Most displayed similar symptoms of possible heat stroke and she chewed at her lip. It wouldn’t be difficult to run back to goodsprings for a water shipment. She could probably borrow one of the bighorners to haul some water as well.  A tired looking soldier sat looking over some papers on a crumbling and rusted metal bench. Marking of rank sparked a hint of memory and she was sure he was the one in charge. She leaned forward and waved to get his attention.

The soldier who’d escorted her cleared his throat, “Sir, this wastelander wishes to speak with you.”

Lieutenant Hayes glanced up from his papers, “Can I help you, civilian?”

Dot shook her head, paused, then nodded and pulled the notepad from her pocket.

‘ _Can I help_ _you_ _? need water? Can go to goodsprings. be back in hour._ ‘

She scribbled quickly and held it out for him. It was a delight to see that he mouthed words as he read them. It added something to his rugged charm. When he finished he glanced up at her, “I…suppose we could pay you for the service. Sargent Rynes will go with you.”

The man beside her gave a salute as his scowl deepened, “Yes, sir.”

She smiled at him and wrote, ‘ _better someone who can run. I’m fast. have a doctor?_ ’ She held the note to Hayes while watching the angry soldier. Hayes heaved a tired sigh, “damn. I… yes you’re right. We have a camp medic but he’d busy with someone who was clipped by one of the convicts earlier today.” He glanced around, “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure any of my men could keep up a run right now.”

She frowned and looked around. Bear flags and patches. The memory of a small tattoo on her arm she’d seen while looking herself over sprang to mind and she began to unbutton her sleeve. Rolling it up, she held her arm out to him. A bear and a star was on her inner forearm.

“You’re a runner with the rangers? Why didn’t you say?” Rynes spat from beside her.

She grimaced and tugged off her hat. Her hands pointed to her skull before writing, ‘ _didn’t remember._ ’

Hayes stood and looked at her wound with a frown. “Hm... I should have recognized you with that hair.”

She couldn't help the hopeful smile that pressed it's way onto her face as she wrote, ‘ _you know me? my name?_ '

He shook his head. “We’ve never met, but someone by your description is well known for helping the NCR. ‘Fraid I don’t know your name but if any of the primm civilians are alive there is a good chance they’d know you.”

She nodded and unhooked her canteen and handed it to him before shrugging off her bags. Carefully, she pointed to him, then her eyes, then the bag.

“We can watch it for you, ma’am. Rynes, you won’t be able to keep up in your condition. Resume your post on the main road and keep an eye out for her return.”

Rynes grumbled as he spun on his heel and walked stiffly back to where she’d met him. She stretched her arms over her head before tightening the chin strap on her hat. Hayes tapped her arm and held out a handful of NCR moneyslips, “here. It’s from my own pocket at this point but my men can’t do without water for much longer and I’m not sure what’s stopping the supply line. We haven’t had word from Mojave outpost for several days and I can’t spare a runner right now.”

She nodded and accepted the bundle of NCR money that he’d held out. This was something she could do. She could help.

 

~~

 

Dot fidgeted as Sunny helped her pack up all the water she could carry. Without her pack, she’d made the sprint in roughly ten minutes. Sweat made her shirt stick to her back and she flashed a bright smile at the girl while sipping at the water Trudy had forced in her hands.  

Sunny grinned up at her, “You’re too nice, Dot. Running all this way for some soldiers?”

Shrugging, Dot took another sip of her water. She knew not to gulp it down if she was going to run more in this heat. Slow sips were the answer.  She gestured to a nearby old bighorner and held up some of the money Hayes had given.

“You want to buy him? Well…  as a bull he’s always been more feisty and it is getting old. …but you’d have to ask Jimmy. He owns it officially.”

Jimmy was nearby leaning on his rake, “Caps. Not NRC nonsense.”

Dot turned to Trudy and motioned- one hand flat while the other ‘pushed and pulled’. Trudy stared at her for half a beat before she grinned. “Yeah, I can exchange it.”

Dot looked back towards Jimmy and held up four fingers and a fist.

Glancing between them Sunny asked, “Forty? That’s a little generous isn’t it?”

Nodding, Dot gave another bright smile and looked at Jimmy expectantly.

He stroked his chin and hmm’d, “Yeah. Fine. Forty caps and he’s yours.”

Dot nodded and stroked the soft exposed skin on the creature's face. He would help her haul the water. His old eyes told her as much. In return, she’d grant him a quick death and he’d become provisions for the men watching primm. Hot breath on her arm. The younger bighorners were saying goodbye. Animals were smart. Good. If there was one thing Dot knew it was that she liked them for how simple they were. 

 

~~

 

Having the bighorner follow behind her on a lead was not difficult. Just slow.

Many of the townsfolk thought she wouldn’t be able to do it. Bighorners were notorious for tossing their packs or riders. It took some gentle nudging and patience, but eventually the bighorner set off at an amble with just a gentle tug and soft tongue click. The noise surprised her when she made it the first time though.

The road was quiet except for the easy crunch of gravel and her occasional attempt at different sounds. She hissed and clicked and even managed a low whistle at one point. It was a mild thrill to not be stuck in complete silence.

When they finally reached the outpost the sun was beginning to lower in the sky. Dot waved to Rynes as she approached.

“Thought you said it would be only an hour? It’s been two!”

She shrugged and gestured at the bighorner with a flair that almost clearly said ' _ta-da!_ ' 

“Oh stop being a dick, Rob!” The woman shouted. Dot covered her silent laugh with one of her gloved hands and Rynes scowled upwards as he snapped, “Shut it, Gibs. Gettin real tired of your shit.”

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ Made some edits 4/30/2018 ~~


	2. Rollin'

* * *

~☾❀☽~  
[Na'ila]

The dust storm rolled in with the tumbleweeds that occasionally nipped her heels.

Grit scratched at her eyes as she adjusted the scarf over her nose. Gunshots echoed across the dusty bowl of a nearby town and she ducked low and turned her course farther northward. It had been days since she’d helped the soldiers and townspeople retake the town from the escaped convicts and she wasn't sure she had the ammo to fight more.

The old man and the ‘deputy’ she rescued had recognized her though. Given her a name.

Na’ila.

But that was all they knew. She’d been running as a courier with them for only about a year- taking up the mantle of ‘courier six’ from someone else. Since most of her time was spent on the road, there wasn't a lot of talk. Rumor was that she was from Southern California but no one seemed to know for sure. A wandering mystery.

Na’ila. Dot. Courier Six. The name didn’t really matter.

The buzz and laughter of a nightstalker pulled her attention from her musings. She’d been trying to head for the Mojave Outpost but the sight of a radscorpion and some feral ghouls had changed her course. In her extended route she’d run smack into a dust storm. Now nightstalkers.

Tensing, she crouched and reached for her knife.

The pack dashed by her at first but a pup stayed behind and came to greet her. Tail wagging and tongue flicking, it brushed against her in a customary greeting. Holstering her knife, she curled her fist and brushed against the strange hide in a return greeting while clicking with her tongue. A part of her knew she liked these little beasts. They were a menace on the wastes but she found them to be an alright sort. Mostly blind, they hunted by smell and taste. The blue and yellow eyes were light sensitive and most pups were born blind. Their venom and blood could be used to make hydra. You could even get the venom without killing the creatures if you knew how.

She walked with the pack and let them lead her. They were curious but seemed familiar with her. She bumped her thighs against them and wished she could cackle her own greeting of barking laughter.

Who was she that animals never seemed to attack and she could greet them with relaxed ease? More pressing, why had she been shot? Had she done something wrong? Or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

No one seemed to know, but there were answers _somewhere_.

Cresting a hill, she could see a silhouette of some large immobile statue as it was framed by the soft light of the moon. At its feet was the soft neon glow of a town. The bones of a road lay soft between the dry grasses below.

The pack split off into the night, howls and cackles as they chased their evening prey. Silently, she bid them good luck and began a steady pace for the town. The road and far off moon as her silent guides.

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Boone could see the girl through his scope. Skin pale enough it almost seemed to glow for the little parts that were exposed. Giant pack on her back, she somehow kept up a tireless trot along the road. Every now and then she would suddenly crouch and go still. Becoming nearly invisible to see until she decided to move again or leapt out and attacked whatever had put her to hiding. Usually it was the few raiders he hadn’t picked off yet.

The gun on her back was ignored as she used a knife.

He frowned.

She could easily be a Legion spy, but he knew they didn’t use women for more than slaves. He squinted through the scope- perhaps it wasn’t a woman? No. Female. He was fairly sure. Her breasts weren’t big but they also weren’t bound. Didn't matter to reasonable folk but it made him fairly sure that she likely wasn't Legion-- they seemed annoyingly stuck up about things like gender. 

The girl was nearing a bighorner heard and he watched as she rounded the bend and stopped when the big male took an offensive posture. Sheathing her knife, she slowly crouched and stared at the large animal. Boone considered shooting it for her, but he hadn’t decided what he thought of this wanderer yet and the wind picked up enough that he wasn’t sure he could make the shot at this range. He began adjusting for the wind and changing his position just as the bighorner bull charged.

No time.

He saw through his scope as the girl stepped lightly to the side and rammed the bull with her shoulder. The bull fell to its side and thrashed on the ground. She pinned it down with its horns and knelt near the head for a moment. When she stepped back the bull got up and ambled off as if nothing had happened. Boone had never seen a display like that before and he felt an overwhelming curiosity. It would have been easy for her to kill the animal once she had flipped it, and yet she had allowed it up and it had walked away.

The girl resumed her trek and Boone realized that he’d forgotten to keep scanning the area to protect the town.

Gun swinging around he arked meticulously over the area and shot wandering ghoul that had ambled in from the east before looking back to where the girl had been. Gone. His mouth was a tight line as he resumed his watch over the town. Had she been killed? Swallowed by the wastes like so many others… or just out of sight?

It didn’t matter.

Resuming his watch, his night wore on. He kept watch until morning when his bastard ex-friend Manny came to relieve him. Boone made his way to his new apartment and fell into the musty bed with an annoyed grunt. The home he’d once shared with Carla had been left untouched since the incident. As he drifted off, he vaguely wondered about the traveler and what had happened to her.

His body woke him from his usual nightmare like an electric bolt.

Splashing water on his face in the bathroom's clogged sink, he checked the time on one of the few working clocks and saw that it was ten to his shift and he sighed. Another night of watch. He grabbed his rifle and headed out without bothering to eat. He wasn’t sure he could stomach anything yet anyhow and Clive always kept a stash of food for the snipers up at the nest. One small kindness in a sandsea of fucked. Maybe it was a bribe. A silent guilt made physical?

Unknown.

Once alone, Boone settled into his usual position and began the never ending routine of watching the landscape.

Darkness fully descended and his eyes adjusted as the moon rose.

The door to the shop opened and he wondered what Clive was doing at this hour. It was a rare night that Clive came into the shop after he had ‘closed’ up but it wasn’t too unusual. Boon ignored it and shot a gecko that had begun to wander too close to the town. The action sent a cold coil of nausea to his gut and he pushed the memories away. The sound of a match striking just over his shoulder was all the warning he had that someone else was in the mouth of the Dinosaur with him. He felt himself jump like a surprised cat and he whirled to face the intruder. Eyes glittered at him from behind a newly lit flame.

Heart pounding, he stared at the person who had managed to enter quietly without him hearing. To his surprise it was the female wanderer from the night before. Pale skin tinted yellow by the flames of the match. The hood she had worn was down and her hair was tied to the side with several pencils shoved through it.

“Goddamn it!” He snarled, “Don’t sneak up on me like that. What do you want?”

The woman blew gently on the match and the darkness descended like a blindfold. His mind reeled- it must be an assassin from the Legion after all.  He didn’t care. Now that Carla was gone, nothing mattered and he didn’t really want to keep going. Nightly shifts for a town he hated. A life he hated. He braced himself for the knife that was sure to come.

Nothing.

His eyes adjusted and he could see the woman had moved and was now standing at the edge of the mouth; looking over the wastes. Her pack was gone- and she only had her knife with her. Guns gone, she looked smaller and less imposing than she had trotting along the road. She was shorter than him by a full foot.

She looked to him and then pointed from her eyes to the wastes.

He scowled at her silence and observed her instead of the land. A nasty wound that went from the shaved side of her hair to her cheek could be seen. Jagged and rough. In a strange way it didn’t quite seem to fit her. In another way, it seemed to fit all too well. The wastes had a way of destroying beautiful things, but the scarring didn’t seem to detract from her beauty all that much.

He looked away from her and out over the rolling landscape and spotted an incoming ghoul.

CRACK.

The shot hadn't been his.

He looked in surprise at the girl. She had picked up his extra rifle and shot it quicker and cleaner than even Manny could.  She took a deep breath and tilted her head as she looked over the wastes. Seeing nothing, she set the gun down and turned back to him. She pulled a small note pad out of a pocket and then the pencil that had been shoved through her hair. Once she had scribbled something she held it out to him.

~ _Exploring. Heard of Sniper nest. Wanted to see. Will leave. Thank you_.~

He stared at the note for a few minutes in the dim light until she pulled it back and began to head for the door. He caught her arm.

“Wait.”

She turned back to him and looked to where his hand held her arm. Even in the dark he could see her delicately raised pale eyebrow. He withdrew his hand hastily.

Clearing his throat to continue he said, “You aren’t from here and I need someone I can trust. Since you’re a stranger…that’s a start.”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. Damn her insufferable silence. At least she was listening.

He glared and continued, “I know it’s not my place to ask a favor but I need something found out for me. My wife was taken from our home by Legion slavers one night while I was on watch. They only took Carla and they knew how to do it unseen. Someone set it up, but I need to find out who.”

Boone didn’t know why he was saying this. It was foolish to trust this woman but his need for revenge seemed to burn a hole in his chest and make words spill forth without his consent. Silence had been his friend for too long- but now he needed to speak. Needed to tell.

The woman pulled out her notepad and wrote.

~ _If it can be done- it will be. Need help rescuing wife?_ ~

Frowning at the words on the page he shook his head. “My wife is dead. I want to put a bullet in the son of a bitch who sold her.” Cold rage burned in every word. His poor Carla. Revenge for her sake would be bittersweet. Her loss still an open wound.

She scribbled quickly in reply.

~ _If I find them, I assume_ _you_ _wish to kill_?~

He nodded, “When you find them, bring them out front of the nest while I’m on duty. I work nights.” An idea struck and he picked up his spare beret from near the ammo crates and offered it to her, “I’ll give you my spare NCR beret to put on. It’ll be the signal to let me know that you’re standing with that traitorous bastard.”

She took the beret and looked it over before putting it into one of her pockets. She gave a nod and just as quickly as she had come- she was gone. Seeming to vanish into the night air. He realized that a faint scent like a perfume had been left behind and he tried to identify it. Jasmine. Desert Jasmine and sage? Must have been a new vegas type. It was the only place that carried that mix. Carla had hated it. She’d prefered desert willow and lavender. In that case, he’d hated it. Now he missed it even if the smell made him sick. Their house still smelt like her. Hell, even the new room somehow smelled like her. It was inescapable. Just like the memories.

He shook his head and returned to watching the land.

It was not but an hour before he heard footsteps on the gravel out front of the dino. He looked down and saw the Wanderer with Jeannie May. The wanderer slipped on the beret and stoically looked over the wastes. She did not look at him, but she adjusted the cap on her head when he hesitated.

Pushing aside his surprise, he took aim.

CRACK.

Jeannie May’s head splattered like an overripe squash and littered the ground with the physical form of thought. The deed was done and the Wanderer was suddenly nowhere to be seen. A small part of him wondered if she had ever been there at all. Was he mad from grief?  He hoped that she had been real,  but a part of him argued that it didn’t matter- it wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d killed an innocent. 

Settling back into his post, he resumed his watch. It wasn’t long before a hand tapped his arm and once again he nearly jumped out of his skin. The wanderer had been real afterall. He gave a string of hissed curses as she crouched next to him with something in her hand; her face a careful blank mask but he could see the tightness to her lips. Large sad eyes blinked at him as he took what she held out.

A pouch of caps and a note. The moon shone down on the paper making it bright enough to read.

~ _We, the representatives of the Consul Officiorum, have this day bargained and purchased from Jeannie May Crawford of the township of Novac the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone for the sum of one thousand bottle caps, and those of her unborn child for the sum of five hundred bottle caps, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged. We warrant the slave and her young to be sound, healthy, and slaves for life. We covenant with the said, Jeannie May Crawford, that we have full power to bargain and sell said slave and her offspring. Payment of an additional five hundred bottle caps will be due pending successful maturation of the fetus, the claim to which shall be guaranteed by possession of this document. M. Scribonius Libo Drusus et al._

_Administrators of M. Licinius Crassus, Consul Officiorum ab Famulatus ~_

Boone felt as if he might be ill. He read the note again. Unborn child. The note crumpled in his hand as he looked to the Wanderer who had taken up the spare rifle and was scanning the area.

“You read this?” He asked accusingly. His voice came out a strangled growl.

She turned to look at him slightly and then pointed to the dead corpse of Jeannie May on the ground. Stupid. Of course she read it. It was the evidence she had needed. He had needed. He looked down at the bag of caps she had given him and then held it out to her.

“This… I can’t. Take it or toss it- I don’t care. I don’t want to see it,” He dropped the bag and took up his normal position. His hands were shaking though, and he felt like his mind was unraveling. Unborn child. The words echoed in his head.

"Ssss." The soft hiss came from the wanderer but he didn't turn. A tap at his shoulder and he turned to see the Wanderer was holding a notepad out to him. A tilt to her head and a forced small smile at the edges of her lips.

~ _Sorry. Not good news. However, you ever leave this town- I welcome company_.~

He swallowed hard and turned back to the view of his scope. Did he want to leave? Maybe. This existence was nothing but pain and reminders. Carla gone. His best friend was actually happy about her death. …and thus the death of their child.  For a long time he thought. As he pondered, he realized that he wanted more than anything to leave. Standing abruptly to answer a yes, he found the Wanderer was gone- as were the caps from the ground. He settled back down with a scowl.

Movement below caught his attention.

The Wanderer picked up the dead body of Jeannie May and hefted it over her small shoulders. Setting off at a trot, she disappeared along the road. Boone watched with detached interest. Eventually, he could see her returning at that same steady trot. The sky was beginning to lighten- his shift would be over soon.

She held a dead gecko on her back and tossed it down near the bloodsplatter.

The gecko was lacking its head and spilled blood onto the greedy dry ground with fervor.  She was covering what had occurred. Protecting him. As long as no one looked to hard at the scene it would never be apparent what had happened.

Once finished, the Wanderer trotted off into the town. He could hear Manny’s steady stomp coming up the stairs. Boone spoke with him and told him that he was going to leave. His words were clipped and short and he didn’t stick around to hear Manny’s reply. Quickly moving down the steps and then out of the shop door, he was surprised to see that the wanderer was standing nearby. Lounging against the building as if she had always been there. The fresh blood smears mixed with old and nothing seemed amiss.

Her eyes were now visible in the growing light and he could see that one was a much darker blue than the other. It had a familiar shine to it. Optical replacement. He’d seen some soldiers with them and some crazies in New Vegas even purposefully had them installed for seemingly no reason at all. By her scars he was guessing this one was more necessity than frivolity. She tilted her head in question at him.

“I need to grab some gear from my room. I want to come with you,” He said. The uneasily feeling had begun to roll in his stomach and he realized he’d spent another day not eating.

It was true that he wanted to go but she unnerved him more than a little.

Her face broke into a grin like the sun peeking from behind clouds and she held out the notepad.

_~I am Na’ila. Pronounce ‘Nay-La’.~_

The note was pre-written and probably what she often used to introduce herself. She took it back for a moment and scribbled something new.

 _~ Get some rest. We leave after noon._ ~

Once she seemed sure he’d read it, she shoved the notebook into her pocket and trotted off to one of the upper rooms. He watched her go and wondered what he had just gotten himself into.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ Made some edits to this chapter 3/15/216 ~~


	3. Partners

* * *

~☾❀☽~  
[Na'ila]

Na’ila retreated to the little room she’d rented.

Morning light filtered through the boards over the window leaving hazy glowing streaks through the dust that lingered in the air. Pulling the beret from her pocket, she looked it over.  NCR 1st Recon. ‘The last thing you never see.’ Her thumb rubbed over the worn embroidered image. Bear skull with rifles crossed behind.

With a sigh, she folded the hat neatly and set it next to her pack before walking to the wash basin she'd left on the counter. She’d filled it herself with water from the local pump and a pinch of the crushed herb packet she’d found in her belongings that the doctor had saved. Something about the scent of the herbs helped calm animals but she couldn’t remember why. The knowledge of how to make more though was not lost and the herbs she'd need were already gathered and hanging to dry with the first batch of clean clothes. She splashed the water over her arms and face and flicked the extra moisture away before peeling off her shirt. Between Jeannie May and the gecko, it had far too much filth and blood on it for her liking. She shoved it unceremoniously into the bowl. After some thought, she carried the bowl into the small bathroom. The clothing she’d left to soak still sat in the tub and she dumped the bowl in- the smell of crushed flowers mixed with the sharp scent of Abraxo as the water was agitated. She emptied her pockets and stripped the rest of her clothing. No sense in wasting an opportunity.

Hopping into the tub, she began using her feet to stomp over the clothing until she became tired of the action. A metal washboard that she’d stolen from Jeanie’s house was leaning against the wall and she snagged it with a twisted smile and began to scrub out the stains.

Hands on her hips, she observed the last few hours handywork. She was clean and wore a freshly dried bellyband and oversized dress. Rope and old wire ran the length of the ceiling and wrung out clothing hung in the mojave sun heated room. Freshly cleaned armor and worked over, oiled, and primed guns were stocked in their own bag for easy trading. All of it was marked with a small habitual star scratch. The action must have been one she did often previously because the first four had gone unnoticed till she actually caught herself making the symbol just under the barrel of a gun.

Straightening one of the shirts, she thanked her decision to rent to room for so long. She’d rented it for a whole month so that she didn’t have to carry everything all and it all would have time to dry. It had been 300 caps that she’d earned back, plus the money the bitch had gotten for selling people. The hotel safe had been the last place she'd snooped on a hunch and she'd had no qualms stealing everything it had contained. Na’ila swallowed the bile that hit the back of her throat, she didn’t like what Jeannie had done. Didn't like that type of person. Thinking of the legion triggered a hate that rolled in her stomach, too.

Maybe that was why she prefered animals as companions. Too many bad people in the wastes. Everyone too eager to sell the next person out for some caps.

Still, she’d made the offer to the grumpy ass sniper.

Unless he changed his mind of course. When the sun had risen, the man had seemed dead on his feet and like he hadn't eaten in a few days. Hopefully, she wouldn’t regret her decision, but a man like that would wallow over what they found till the day he finally snapped and put a bullet in his own skull. Maybe even after killing others. He needed to get out. Stretch his legs. Kill some legion bastards.

Plus, she liked his voice. Like a good whiskey and a pair of preserved lace undies. Something itched at her empty memory- like she’d known a voice like that before. Rougher though. More the dry husk of a dusty riverbed. It echoed in her ears without a real sound and she hoped one day she might fully remember it. That she might remember everything.

She checked the rising bread that sat under the magnified sunlight. A shard of glass her amplifier. With any luck it would be done when she woke. It hadn't been hard to make. Herbs and cactus fruit added to it to make it sweeter, she'd gotten ahold of some flour and other supplies from the general store. They had a good selection. Better than expected. The bread would last a few days on their travels if she didn't mess it up.

With a sigh, she flopped tiredly back onto the bed and set her pipboy to wake her in a few hours.

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Once Boone had packed what little gear he owned, he fell into the bed with a sigh. The night’s events wore on him and he grabbed one of the bottles of whiskey he kept for nights when he didn’t dare to let himself think.

He fell asleep cradling the bottle.

Soft knocking woke him and he jumped from the bed and to attention- old NCR habits kicking in. The knock came again and he made his way to the door. Cracking it open, he looked down into the pale face of the wanderer. She wore scuffed sunglasses and her hood was up and looked cleaner than before. The notepad was raised for him to see.

~ _Hey sleepyhead. You coming? Or change your mind?_ ~

Blinking groggily at the words, he tried to wake up enough to read them.

“Uh… Yeah. Just give me a minute. Meet at the gate?”

She gave a little nod and he closed the door.

When he felt ready, he locked up his small room and headed for the gate. Na’ila was nowhere to been seen and he looked around. One of her large packs lay on the ground and he scowled down at it. The town was not safe enough for someone to leave belongings unattended. Movement nearby pulled his eyes upwards. Just past the gate was a securitron. Atop it was Na’ila, legs folded, she sat sharpening her knife as the robot wobbled and gave a weak protest.

Her head tilted his way and a smile split her face.

With little apparent concern for her safety, she leapt down and her fall made a soft thump. Knife clenched in her teeth she straightened and looked him over. Behind her sunglasses he could see as her eyes swept up and down his frame. A little frown appeared on her face as she spat out and sheathed her blade. The tilt in her head slowly increased and he began to wonder if she’d just keep going.

“What?” He growled.

She gave him a little look- one eyebrow down and half a frown. It was as much disapproval as it was a question. But what damn question?

Kneeling beside her pack, she began to search for something. Soon she seemed to find what she was looking for and she pulled out a little bundle and handed it to him. Boone looked down in surprise. Armor.  Why was she carrying armor that wouldn’t fit her?

“Uh. Thanks?” He said while refraining his urge to voice his confusion. Somehow she seemed to know anyhow and she held up the notepad. A smile twitching at her lips as she shoved the pencil back into the hair hidden under her hood.

~ _Picked it up for armor repair. Spare parts. Don’t have to wear it but don’t whine if you end up with a bullet in the ass.~_

Scowling, he turned and stalked back to his room to change. Grumpily, he ranted to himself under his breath while pulling on the armored pants. They were a comfortable cloth and only just a size too large with leather and metal additions for protection. Rubbing his fingers over the material he was sure some of it even had ballistic weave. The shirt was similar. Shoulder guards and gloves. Belts and boots. It was a complete set and in good enough condition that he almost felt bad. It was a mild fortune judging by the quality. How had she gotten her hands on something like this?

He stared at himself in the mirror and wondered who had worn it last. It didn’t smell beyond the lingering scent of abraxo, flowers, and the oils used on the leather sections... but there was a spot that had been dyed dark with blood under the left armpit. It was obvious she’d cleaned it after stripping the parts from whoever she’d killed to get it.

Still feeling grouchy, he turned.

Surprise felt like an electric jolt to his balls, and he made a strangled grunt. Na’ila was sitting on his dresser. How long had she been there? Her legs were crossed and she was messing with the machine on her wrist. Her sunglasses held between her teeth, she glanced up at him before returning to whatever she had been doing.

“THE HELL?” He was too startled and angry to speak beyond that as he clutched his chest and tried to ‘will’ his heart to return to normal.

Na’ila sighed and tapped something into her pip-boy with and turned her arm so he could read it.

~ _You left the door open. I closed it.~_

Once she was sure he had read it she hopped down from the dresser and picked up her pack. It was obnoxious when he realized that she even made that move quiet. In a heartbeat she had stalked to the door and was gone. He grumbled quietly to himself as he followed her. This whole ‘creepy silent’ thing was going to get old really fast. when he stepped out something small smacked his stomach, nearly winding him.

He looked down to see her hand. Being offered to him was some sort of bun. Glazed and smoked brahmin from the nearby ranch and some soft of sliced root. It was trapped in a reddish bread that was dotted with herbs. Now that he was paying attention- the smell was amazing.

His stomach chose that moment to growl it's own grouchy opinion.

They didn’t leave town until it was just past sunset. The day’s heat still radiated from the old road as she trotted along carrying most of their gear. He was to tell her when the pace became too much but he refused to let the stitch in his side and tremble in his legs win. It had been years since he’d traveled with his squad and even then he’d never been much on endurance running. Sprints maybe.

Thick black smoke curled up from the direction that they were heading. Even in the dying light he could see it. He could definitely smell it. The wind burned his eyes and no animals were around. All of them chased away by whatever caused the fire and he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Maybe it was just all the running.

When she stopped jogging and turned off the path at a slower pace, he nearly cried with relief.

She crouched and began digging at a plant and he braced his hands on his knees while he tried to regain his breath. A canteen was shoved under his nose and he glared up at her amused face.

He was beginning to be sure that he not only hated her but he deeply regretted deciding to be her traveling companion.

 

* * *

~☾❀☽~  
[Na'ila]

 

 Na’ila grabbed the Sniper’s arm and dragged him behind the building with a soft hiss. When he opened his mouth to speak she pressed and hand over it firmly and forced him to crouch with her. The pack of nightstalkers wandered nearby and she could feel mr broody stiffen and start to go for his gun. She hissed a warning and moved into his view.

~ _Stay here,_ ~ She held the pre-written message up and then moved her hand down to the second message, ~ _Friendly. Do not fire._ ~

She pointed to the nightstalkers. Then flipped the page to another already written message, ~ _Legion troops. Danger._ ~ She pointed towards the large building where she could just see the armor skirted figures and their hounds milling around with her good eye.

He glanced at her and spoke in a strained whisper, “Are you fucking nuts? Those nightstalkers are _not_ friendly!”

As if to prove him wrong, one of the pups brushed against his leg. She nudged a hand against it before kneeling down and patting the pup fondly. She was sure it was the same that had greeted her last time. In all probability it was the same pack. Defiantly, she stared up at him. Grabbing his hand, she curled the Sniper’s fingers and forced the fist next to the snout of the pup. Tiny tongue flicking out, the pup tasted the air and it’s head tilted before it butted against him. The rest of the pack came over to mill around them.

“You. Are. Insane.” He growled in a low tone before turning his gaze to the legion.

Hastily she typed up a message on her pipboy and tapped his arm, ~ _Will help you up to roof. Pack will keep you safe. Need you to snipe once I start the ground attack. Wait for the signal_ ~

He scowled at her before finally heaving a sigh and speaking, “Yeah. Fine. ...you sure?”

A bright white grin was her only answer as she quietly let her pack drop to the ground and she offered a knee and clasped hands for him to get up.

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Boone counted breaths between the moments when he could see Na’ila.  

Once he had gotten tucked up on the roof, she’d darted away into the darkness. He could hear the self affirmed tones as the legionnaires talked to each other and his finger twitched on the trigger. Wait for the signal. That’s what she’d told him.

Wait for the signal.

He let out the breath he’d been holding as he saw her slip around the edge of a building only to disappear into the shadows a second later. The far guard. Boone could see her target now. Her blade was dulled by some sort of grease and he watched as her arm came up and in went the knife at the neck. She dragged the now limp body away and no one was the wiser.

Was that the signal?

No. Couldn’t have been.

She reached into her thigh pack and pulled out something before looking his way. He couldn’t see her expression because of the scarf over her face but as she lobbed the object towards the group, he figured out what the signal was. He took aim at the far guard and fired just as the grenade went off. The explosion hid the sound of his shot, and past the rising dust he saw his target fall as he went to pick the next. He zeroed in on the bastard with the coyote hat just as Na’ila danced in behind him and her blade slid home. Once, twice, three times in his back and ribs and she was gone. A handful of cherry bombs tossed at the few remaining Legionnaires to cover her retreat.

Boone took down one more.

She took down two.

The pack of nightstalkers surged forward and killed all that remained; hound and man.

Na’ila disappeared from view. He held his breath until something tapped his shoulder.  If his teeth hadn’t been clamped shut from trying to keep silent he might had yelled at her as he nearly rolled off the roof. Bright eyes laughed at him in the moonlight as she gave him a thumbs up and stretched out her arm for him to read a new message on her pipboy, ~ _Going to check buildings for survivors. Then we strip bodies for sell-ables and supplies. Look for paper. Once finished we head for Mojave outpost._ ~

He grunted his affirmative as he stood.

 

* * *

~☾❀☽~  
[Na'ila]

 

Na’ila calmed the abandoned legion mutts. Sitting on the floor, she rubbed her hands over their muzzles and checked them for wounds. The sniper checked the upper levels after expressing his distaste for the dogs.  She wasn’t sure what to do. They were healthy hounds for the most part but they were legion trained. She hoped that rubbing her scent on them would prevent the nightstalkers from attacking them. There was no guarantee. Perhaps there was a chance that she could get the pack to accept the hounds. It wouldn’t be good for wastelanders or local wildlife but she didn’t feel right about simply killing them.

The soft thump of Boone’s boots brought her attention back as he dumped an armload of things next to her.

“Why am I doing all the heavy work?” He growled at her. A couple of the hounds ears perked and bristled at his tone.

~ _Because I carry the pack while we travel and you did not wish to deal with the hounds._ ~

He grunted and walked away.

She smiled to herself and resumed petting the female that had rolled over next to her. Legion hounds weren’t like normal dogs. They were trained with brutality but somewhere in their genes were the kind, tummy-rub loving animals they had once been bred from. With her free hand, she began to sort through the supplies that Boone had found. After a few minutes, she realized that he was far from a skilled scavenger. Rolling her eyes, she pushed from the ground. The hounds followed her as she began stripping the place of anything she knew she could use or sell. A key led her into the basement. Dead bodies and drugs. She examined the drugs for a moment before slipping them into the pack she was loading up. Several pads of blank unused paper were found as well and she was delighted as she slipped them into a separate bag.

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Boone watched as Na’ila knelt in the dirt and introduced the hounds the the nightstalkers. Tails and hackles were up as they sniffed each other out. The nightstalkers hissed and buzzed while the hounds let out warning growls. Eventually to Boone’s surprise, the hounds submitted and mixed with the pack. Weary postures turned friendly and tails wagged as everyone was introduced. Hell if he’d seen anything like that before.

He snorted and adjusted the small pack he was to carry. Her pack was far heavier. She’d gone through every house and after carefully looking through a magazine on lockpicking- every safe. Mercy killings for all the people hanging on poles and carefully arranging the bodies of dead NCR soldiers when she found them in the building they’d used as a sniper perch. She collected their dogtags and taken their armor. At first he’d been upset, but angry glowing words on her pipboy had convinced him to lay off. Her reasoning was that dead bodies don’t need armor but the live ones at the outpost might. A sound assumption if he was honest. Reasonable. Sane. Far more sane than he wanted to give her credit for though.  

A soft hiss drew his attention as she settled the pack on her back. He hadn’t noticed it before but a thin scratch ran the length of her arm with dried blood. The shirt sliced open. He tapped her arm, “you should get that bandaged.”

He was surprised when she lept away from his touch as if he’d scared her. Head turning, she glared at him-- eyes narrowing before glancing down at her arm. Her head rocked from side to side before she typed something on the pipboy, ~ _can’t see it. How bad?_ ~

“You can’t see it?”

She nodded, ~ _eye barely works_. _Can’t see on that side. Hearing not great either._ ~

Blinking he grunted and examined her arm while thinking. He hadn’t thought to notice but she did always keep him on the side with the pale lilac eye. When he was on the right, she would only acknowledge him after turning her head to put him in full gaze.

“It’s not bad.”

~ _Then I’ll patch it at the outpost. Or camp if it’s too far._ ~

He nodded and stepped away, “Your choice.”

She gave a huff of silent laughter and the nightstalkers joined her with cackles that filled the air and made the hair on his neck rise.

The scene was eerie in the light of the moon and the thought once more cropped up-- What had he just gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lightly edited [4/11/16]


	4. Expresso yourself

* * *

 ~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Boone stood glaring at the giant hill. After coming across a group of raiders and a dead convict- his pack had become more than full. The full night of walking for the first time in ages had him shaky with fatigue, and he wasn’t sure he could make it up the monster of a hill in front of them. He glanced at Na’ila. She was carrying far more than him still. Only once she could no longer add to her pack had she shoved the lighter bulk into his. At least he no longer had to deal with the strange herd of creepy following them. The nightstalkers and their new hound additions had had parted ways to chase some quarry across the dusty bowl of an old racetrack. He was thankful she’d allowed a small break to eat another pre-prepared sandwich while the watched the hounds run. Normally, he might have refused but after so much walking he desperately needed the fuel.

And the sandwiches were fucking delicious, but he was determined not to admit that.

His leg muscles gave another protest when he shuffled his foot. Only his military training kept him from simply dropping everything and throwing a tantrum. “Listen,” He started with a sigh, “I’m not sure--”

Her head turned and her attention locked on him. He had to swallow to continue, “uhm… I’m not sure I can walk up that.” He gestured at the hill, then over his shoulder at his pack, “With all this.”

Teeth gleamed out at him in a wild smile before she turned her attention back to the hill. Without warning she grabbed his arm and swung him around. She locked her hand over his forearm and pressed his hand to do the same on hers. She gestured at her eyes, then him, then behind her.

Watch her back.

Sure.

The hand she’d gestured with slid to his bicep and she began pushing him up the hill. It took him a moment to realize that she was also guiding him. Watching his back in turn. Pulling him around treacherous footing and broken down vehicles. She leaned into the task and soon they were halfway up the hill. Panting, she stopped and leaned against him slightly. The gesture surprised him. Though they’d only traveled together for one night, he’d begun to think of her as almost indomitable. A force that never stopped or struggled. Now, he realized that carrying so much for his sake was wearing on her tiny frame. She swung him around and began pulling him. When her hip thumped against a car she gave him a little glare and he realized that she was depending on him to guide her. Not much of a spotter if he couldn't guide her, yet by the end she was nearly dragging him.

Head tilted so she could look over her shoulder, she steadily stepped backwards until they stood between the giant legs of the statue that shadowed the outpost. A ranger stood leaning against the metal figure and they gave a chuckle, “Was wondering when you’d make it up. Need brahmen for a load like that.”

Na’ila scribbled something on her notepad and thrust it at Boone, ~ _Ask him where Ranger Jackson is?_ ~

He huffed, still braced on his knees, “Why?”

Her lip curled and her eyes narrowed with anger. Not the right answer. She turned towards the ranger and thrust the paper at the man while still trying to regain her own breath. The man’s small eyes squinted at the paper for a moment before he grunted, “He’s in Headquarters. Second building. He’s not awake though. You’ll need clearance form Major Knight. ...What’s your business?”

She rolled up her sleeve.

Her pale skin shone in the dark and Boone could see the Ranger runner symbol from where he stood trying to regain his composure. The Ranger grunted, “Oh. Be a few hours till they are up… unless it’s an emergency. Might want to talk to Ghost though. Up atop the barracks. She was looking for someone to run an errand,” The man spit a mouthful of dark tobacco juice before continuing, “You can bed down behind headquarters. Near the crates. Better than near the Brahmin pen with the caravan hands.”

Na’ila was off with a quick nod and a wave. Boone wearily plodded behind her. It was becoming hard to concentrate past the desperate need to pass out. A hand on his arm made him realize that they stood in the back area the Ranger  had mentioned. Na’ila had already snapped out a bedroll and she was gently trying to take his pack. He shifted and let the pack fall away and then she pushed him towards the bedroll. The night was too warm to crawl under it so he flopped over it with a sigh.

He was asleep before he’d even finished laying down. No whiskey was needed to keep the dreams at bay this time.

 

* * *

~☾❀☽~  
[Na'ila]

 

Na’ila left the packs beside her sleeping companion and headed up the ramp to where a pale figure stood. She came to stand beside the silent watch. The woman started ever so slightly when she noticed that someone stood beside her.

“Huh,” Ghost checked over her gun as she spoke, “Didn't even hear you come up the ramp. You don't broadcast your movements... I like that.”

Slipping the notepad from one of her thigh pockets Na’ila wrote, ~ _habit. Didn’t mean to startle. Ranger on watch said you needed a runner?_ ~

“Yeah. I fuckin heard loud ass Davis. I need a runner to check out Nipton. See smoke out that way and no travelers. Need a pair of eyes to tell me what the town status is.”

Na’ila wrote her reply, ~ _came from there. Legion. Town is dead. Partner and I killed the legion camped there_.~

“Huh. No kidding? Shit news but thanks for taking care of that scum. Can't believe they’re this far west. ...shit.”  

~ _Need anything else?_ ~

The sniper’s shoulders drooped and she shook her head, “No. Thanks though. Wish I could say that eases my mind but now I’m more on edge. Good you killed them though…” she let off a heavy sigh and stared out over the wastes.

Na’ila turned to go. “Hey, just a sec.” Turning, she caught a small pouch of ammo that was tossed. The sniper tipped her hat and flashed her a small smile, “My thanks for letting me know. Maybe that partner of yours can use these. I noticed his gun. Probably takes .38s  Put a few more bullets in some legion assholes in the future, yeah?”

Nodding, Na’ila headed back down the ramp.

Boone was out cold when she got back to where she’d left him. She’d given him her bedroll. Not really a mistake but she missed the bed back in her room at Novac. The old mattress had been a delicious sort of comfortable after sleeping on the ground the last few days. She piled some of the armor she intended to sell and used it as a cushion. The building at her back. The snap of fabric and metal didn’t even wake her companion as she laid out the weapons to be cleaned and checked over.

The work was mindless. Snap, snap, clack. Check the barrel. Swipe. Check the chambers. Check the clip. Eye the mechanisms. Snap, clack, snap. Click. Scratch a mark in it, and move on. The sun was just beginning to rise by the time she finished. Her eyes were heavy but it didn’t matter. She could keep going for another few hours.

Standing, she dug in her pack until she found the large strip of cloth. The crates on either side of her companion's sleeping place  were the perfect height and she used nearby rocks to pin the edges down. It formed a sort of tent against the wall- something to keep his skin safe from the mojave sun as he slept. If she was lucky, she’d be able to purchase a second bedroll with what they made in trade today and the makeshift tent would benefit her was well.

She yawned while collecting up the weapons and uniforms from the dead NCR soldiers.

Time to speak to Ranger Jackson.

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Boone woke slowly.

Everything was sore. His eyes. His legs. His fingers. Hell, he’d bet that even his tongue and dick were sore even if he hadn't done much talking or… anything else. He shifted and groaned softly before realizing that he wasn’t alone. Eyes snapping open, he looked to see Na’ila curled beside him. The sun was still high above them- the hateful orb glimmered through the small holes in the blanket that was protecting them from the full wrath. He hadn’t even thought about it, but he’s been doing night shifts for so long that he’d burn like brahmin strips if he didn’t watch it.

She shifted and rolled into him with a soft huff.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep was calling to him and even his sore body couldn’t keep him awake longer.

Boone awoke again to the smell of coffee and the insistent need to piss. Na’ila was gone but he could see her shadow nearby. A little fire crackled and the woody smoke had a sweet smell. Wincing, he pulled himself up from the bedroll and out of the makeshift tent. She sat on a pile of old cloth, hands flicking as she stitched the slice in her other shirt. She wore only a tank top and her arm was bandaged. A large floppy hat shaded her from the remaining sun.  He walked silently with a stiff legged limp to the edge of the outpost to relieve himself.

When he returned, he saw that a cup had been set out for him beside an improv cushion of folded cloth. There was also another bun with meat with a cube of some sort of pale root with a note.

~ _Eat root last. Chew. Do not swallow. When it gets stringy- spit it out. Will help with soreness and endurance. Build muscle._ ~

Merely a grunt was the only response he could manage as he took a sip from the scalding coffee. An under flavor of whiskey made him sputter slightly and he shot a surprised glance Na’ila’s way. She didn't look up but he could see her attempt to hide a smile and the corner of her mouth twitched.  

He took another sip.

Her hands paused long enough to hold out her notepad.

~ _You never introduced yourself_ ~

She set the notepad down beside his meal before returning to her tiny, precise, and speedy stitches. He stared down at the words in confusion. He had to of, right?

Fuck.

“Boone,” He cleared his throat and took another sip of the provided coffee, “Craig Boone.”

She gave a slight nod and he watched her lips mouth the word before a smile tilted her lips in a playful crescent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but... it's up yeah? Yeah. Cool. Next update might take a while. Taking some time to work on an original work and all that jazz. ♥


	5. A Little Drop of Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time since I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo. Minimal editing. XP

* * *

 ~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

Dust swirled in the failing light, turning the gold evening to a murky  grey-brown as it blocked the last of the sun’s rays. Boone shifted the pack that he was carrying and tried to ignore the creepy itch that the bags inspired. It had taken a couple hours but he and Na’ila had cleared the road of ‘nasty critters’ and were now escorting a supply caravan down to the primm outpost.

To his mild horror, Na’ila had insisted they collect most of the bug bodies. He got the ants. She got the scorpion tails. There was no failure to notice that they went into one of the color coded ‘personal’ packs she carried but he wasn’t going to complain. He refrained from the shudder that threatened at the thought of carrying the foot long stingers. As long as they were with her-- he didn’t care what she wanted them for… unless it was eating them. That, he was less okay with.

His eyes picked across the dusty wastes and over the brahmin that meandered with the caravan. Far on the horizon he could see ghouls roaming the hill. Not a danger yet.

A quiet hiss from Na’ila drew his attention.

She had dropped her pack and pulled a small 10mm. Her hand flicked out and she gestured for him to stay with the caravan. At least, he hoped that was the idea. He slipped the rifle from his shoulder and chambered a bullet. He didn’t see the danger yet. A little building stood nearby, paint scrawled over the sides and entrance. She slipped around the edge of the building and he heard the startled cuss of a raider cut short to silence. Na’ila slid around from the other side of the building like a greased molerat. An iron bar was shoved through the doors just as a crack echoed from just north of them. Two convicts.

Boone shot.

Clean shot. Through the head. Bullet ripping through tissue and bone like it had been little more than air. Red mist. The dust grabbed at the liquid greedily as Na’ila shot her small gun. Crack. Crack crack. Crack. The second man stumbled and toppled over.

Na'ila gave him a thumbsup once she'd checked behind the billboard for others. Boone couldn't help as he gave her a matching wave. Perhaps... this partnership wasn't so bad afterall.

 

~~

 

Boone shifted uneasily. It had been near a week since they had made their delivery to Primm and then helped a crimson caravan under attack by powder ganger thugs.

Across the fire sat the bright mismatched eyes of his unusual companion. She seemed content to travel hither and to with no apparent goal beyond helping people. Occasionally, she would drop into a town or outpost and run a package for them. Sometimes leaving him with the packs so that she could make the trip faster.

More often than not, she would place a hand on his gun and shake her head if he took aim at some wildlife that got too close. It’s not like they needed the meat. She always seemed to be able to procure food. He kept a pouch of the root she’d cut for him. Chew till it felt stringy- spit. He didn’t care for the flavor but damn did it help with the constant travel. They had to of covered at least six to ten miles nearly every day. He knew brahmin that didn’t have to work this hard and maybe he envied them a little at that moment.

With a sigh he poked at the fire and adjusted the rifle leaning against his shoulder. There was no real need to trade watch tonight- though she always took the bulk of it. Today they were with the pack. Hounds and nighstalkers lulled around the area. Fat and sleepy from the kill of a bighorner that they’d gorged on.  Boone still wasn’t happy or comfortable near the beasts but they were almost around constantly enough that it didn’t _always_ raise the hair on his neck.

There was no lack of enemies though. Or bullets for his gun. Na’ila always made sure of that. Trading for ammo he could use and using her knife to conserve her own.

She was crazy and almost reckless with how often she used it.

Seeing her take down a super mutant with the knife had been a near heart attack. A few quick slashes in the right spots and down the big green giant had gone. She’d balked at the centaur though. Dashing away as the tentacles whipped the air in a frenzy. One of the few times that he’d seen her look scared. There was always a first for something with her.

There was no real set schedule. His biggest possible complaint was simply that. He liked solid lines drawn and abide. Leftover from the military perhaps. She, on the other hand, prefered nighttime but sometimes she’d wake him at noon and they’d run to the nearest town at a brutal pace. He’d almost yelled at her earlier that day when she’d kicked him awake-- until she had leapt over him and wrestled the bark scorpion that had been nearby.

Her reward was a large welt on her side. The irritated brand of silence wasn’t overlooked by Boone and he could see that she was shaking when they made camp. She’d slapped him when he insisted on trying to help. Even weak from the poison, the slap had weight to it. It had taken all his patience to simply growl and tell her not to be stupid. When she’d relented and offered up her side-- he found the tip of the stinger imbedded in the wound.

Now she glared at him from across the fire as he took his turn cooking the meal. A skill he’d learned but never excelled at with the NCR. She was hunched at an angle- the only sign that his silent companion was in pain. Every now and then her head would snap up and she would look around. The woman was always on alert even with the pack nearby.

He fell asleep that night feeling worried for her. She hadn’t been able to eat. When she tried she looked like she might be ill and handed the collapsible plate back to him. His cooking wasn’t THAT bad. He tucked the leftovers into a metal case and buried them with just under the coals. If she got hungry it would be warm.

He awoke to hear soft near-mumbles.

She was thrashing and making an airy whimpering. Nearby the pack stood alert and worried. Approaching carefully, he could see the sheen of sweat. The poison was being unkind to her system. Slowly, as to not alarm the mutts, he knelt beside her and tried to wake her. Blue eyes fluttered open and he could see that her pupil was dilated strangely on her good eye. Her gaze didn’t focus on him at first. She shook from the effects of the poison but  when her eyes finally focused on him for a brief moment her lips parted, “…Boone….” Her voice was a soft rich whisper. Worn rough from not being used.

The first word he’d ever heard her speak had been his name and it was whispered like a prayer from the damned.

There were _always_ firsts with her.

Blue eyes rolled back, and the shaking increased. Grabbing for her pack, he upturned it in search of a medicine that could help. She’d pointed out a few things in their days of travel and he’d watched her make antivenom and jars of haircare sludge from the stingers they collected previously. The bottle she’d used for the antivenom was round right?

A tiny round clay bottle rolled in the mess.

The tidy scrawl of a label shone in the firelight like a beacon and he lunged for it.

Uncorking it, he pressed it to her lips and held her tightly as she shook in his arms. He hoped that she was supposed to drink it because he didn’t know what else to do. Curse her strange stubbornness- she should have taken an antidote hours ago. Hell, they shouldn’t have been hiking up a damn mountain if she was this bad off. They were too far from any of the towns. Too far to get help.

He held her until she suddenly went limp and he checked for a pulse with fingers that threatened to shake. Heartbeat weak, but it was there.

Thank whatever god still existed.

He fell asleep cradling her to his chest. Fear for her life eating at his mind and he didn’t know why. It's not like they were friends... were they?

When he awoke, she was still in his arms and staring at him. Eyes no longer dilated. She blinked slowly and he nearly dropped her in his haste to move away. None could replace his Carla- even if an unacknowledged part of him wanted it. He wouldn’t dishonor her memory and at this point he was sure it was simply bad luck for him to love someone. The idea of loving Na'ila, of being more than silent companions or friends hit hit like a stray bullet and he choked down the thought as quick as it popped up.

Yet, there was a quiet joy to seeing the mismatched eyes open and alert once more.

She sat up slowly and watched him with a small confused smile. Blue hair tumbling around her face, dancing in the faint mojave breeze that whispered through their campsite.

“Wasn’t aware you could talk,” he grumbled the first thing that came to mind to hide his alarming mental state.

Her confused smile crinkled like the worn paper she wrote notes one. After searching for a pencil in the mess of her bags, she pulled out the notebook she always kept in her pants pocket. It was beginning to look ratty from how much she wrote. She’d need to switch to one of the ones they’d found in Nipton soon. 

~ _Cannot. Maybe used to. Bullet to the face stole voice and memories_.~

“You spoke last night,” he said stubbornly.

~ _Did I? do not remember beyond tackling scorpion_ ~

He frowned down that the words like they had insulted his mother. She didn’t remember any of the day? That seemed strange. Where had she been leading them then?

“Humph,” He grunted. Fuck mornings.  Fuck thinking on mornings. Fuck all of it.

Boone looked at her and felt like his heart was lodged in his throat and he actually felt butterflies in his stomach. She had a small tilt to her head and her strange blue hair was loose. Full lips and wide jaw- the sun shone on her like she was some sort of goddess.  He grumbled and got up to go find a place to pee and reminded himself that he hadn’t deserved Carla and no one deserved whatever bad luck he carried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I glazed over a few events. Changed how they occurred-- I'm going to be playing fast and loose with things from here on with only minimal fact checking (using only my memories of playing. XD Lets hope that the massive amount of time I've put into this will keep me from straying too much.)


	6. Guilt Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've re-written this a million times but I just can't get it longer right now. Add on that I'm suuuuper sick and feel crummy so I'm just going to post it instead of sitting on it longer.
> 
> [Warning: end of the chapter has masterbation.]

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~  
[Craig Boone]

 

Pale eyes glittered with laugher at him. Na’ila had just handed him a steathboy with an impish grin.

~ _Goal- get to the top. dont get caught. stay or come with, but don’t start a fight._ ~

He stared at the note incredulously before looking to the mountain that shadowed them. It was crawling with supermutants and nightkin. Scowling, he returned his gaze to her. Surely, she must be insane. Perhaps the scorpion venom did damage to her brain. Or the bullet. It’s not like he thought she was sane to begin with but… this was new and terribly alarming. Worse than the nightstalkers that he was _almost_ accustomed to.

She’d returned from ‘talking’ with a nearby mutant and then came back with this crazy plan. Crazy.  Boone stared at her and tried to mull over what he was supposed to do. A thud echoed in the warm air as she set her pack down just inside the little door to the supermutant’s shack. With a little wave, she headed off towards the mountain. Her course decided, she would carry on like a big horner on a mission.

He put his pack with hers, activated the Steathboy, and followed.

This was fucking insane.

 

~~

 

Boone watched as Na’ila read over the entries in the terminal until she seemed sure of what the door code was.

Her footsteps were soft pads as she moved and gave a gentle knock at the door. Skarred pale fingers poked out a number at the other terminal; ‘123456789’ and the door swung open to relevel a very startled looking ghoul. Boone rocked back on his heels and his hand inched for his gun. He could almost understand not shooting the nightkin with the blond wig. Once Na’ila had gotten the Mr. Handy that the other mutant, Niel, had spoken of, up and running- all the mutants in the area had lumbered away without another word with Tabitha in the lead.

But a ghoul.

A ghoul could be an issue.

Her hand brushed against his and she beamed a bright smile up at him before turning her attention to the ghoul and holding out her note.

“Am I okay?” The ghoul’s accent was thick and coated in sarcasm. He blinked a few times before a rotted hand came up to smooth the tattered remains of a mustache. Boone half wondered if the hairs were just glued to the ghouls face. Lots of new vegas types did that. “ _Am_ I okay?” The ghoul repeated in a mumble. This time a question for them as much as himself.

 

~~

 

Na’ila sat across the fire with their new traveling companion. The ghoul was grouchy at best but still seemed to want to tag along. Almost immediately, Na’ila had won the ghoul over to a more pleasant attitude with sweets and food.  After that, Boone and Raul had caught her making dough the same evening. Her small hands worked quickly with practice to kneed in cactus fruit, nectar and pinches of herbs from the little packs she kept. Wrapping it and putting it into an old metal ammo box she usually carried her medical supplies in, she’d pressed the box into the coals. Boone found out afterwards that it was the bread he’d become rather fond of when they’d first started traveling together. He was sour that they had to share their supplies with the old ghoul who couldn’t carry nearly as much as it seemed to eat but he was thrilled she was making the bread at all.

It wasn’t long before she won the full friendship with the ghoul when he complained about aching knees and been presented with the same root she’d been shoving at Boone.

Now Raul was teaching her hand signals. A mumbled explanation that one of his sisters had been deaf was all he gave when asked. The old ghoul seemed to take pride in making Na’ila smile though. He was quick to quip out a joke in a low toned gravely pitch that would make her lips part in that strange silent huffing laugh.  

Boone sulked and became the silent guard. She would sometimes smile in his direction though, white lashes and pale eyes locking with his as she bared her teeth in a grin.

 

~~

 

Boone clenched his teeth and tried to keep his actions quiet.

Guilt and shame were his constant companions, and tonight seemed to be no different and he desperately stroked himself to find some sort of relief. It had been an unexpected reaction considering the circumstances.

She’d been asleep next to him. Since they typically shared the tent and shade, this was fairly normal. What wasn’t normal was the day’s permeating heat. In an attempt to cool down, she’d doused herself in some of the spare water and lay down with little more on than her skivies and a prayer. As she slept, she dreamed, body tossing back and forth until the thin worn tanktop worked it’s way up her chest. The breastband she typically wore had been taken off in a sweaty huff after they’d made camp. There was nothing covering her now.

Pale breasts exposed to the air. He could see that she had flowers tattooed around her nipples. Fuck if he’d seen anything like it outside of New Vegas types or some of the tribals. A lacy pattern ran between the mounds that he’d refused to look at for very long though it wasn’t for lack of wanting. In fact, the refusal was more a habit than anything.

He’d still managed to brush it off mentally and ignore it at that point.

Then she’d rolled over.

He’d been drifting off after the glimpse at her exposed skin, when flesh pressed against his arm. Her nose pressed between his elbow and the sleeping mat and her breast damn near in his hand. She hissed a soft snore in her sleep and tossed a leg over his own. The feeling of contact was damn near enough to drive him mad as he lay frozen and trying to ignore the fact that seemingly all his blood had rushed to his groin in a painfully restrained erection.

He concentrated on just trying to breathe and think of _anything_ else.

After what seemed like eternity, she’d rolled onto her back and released him from the trap of her unconscious embrace.   He’d gotten up as quietly as possible and escaped the small shade tent as if deathclaws from hell were on his tail. Pistol clasped in one hand and dick in the other, he pistoned for release. Old military habits kept him quiet when he came, but it didn’t keep his knees from feeling boneless as he panted and braced himself against the rock he’d hidden behind.

The sun beat down on him with cruel beams and he glared upwards while hoping he could sleep now.

When he slipped back into the tent he was met with Raul’s gaze. The ghoul’s black eyes flicked towards where Na’ila lay sound asleep and then drifted back down to the book on his lap.  

A thin blanket had been draped over her chest.


	7. Son'ova Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Warning? Possible honest hearts spoilers ahead? idk]_

 

* * *

~~/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿~~

[Joshua Graham]

 

Joshua Graham considered himself a very careful man.

He was _careful_ about who knew his name.

He was _careful_ about who knew his location.

He was _careful_ about the guns he dutifully built, cleaned, and polished.

And lastly he was very _careful_ of not letting old enemies get near him.

So far, Caesar had kept his distance. Content to send the mass of untrained dogs begging for scraps after the rumors of ‘the burned man’ and little else. It was a blessing that his old commander and lover had decided to ignore him for the most part.  Less of a blessing that the Salt Legs were so fanatical about earning the approval of the man that previously covered him in pitch and tossed him off a cliff. This, of course, still only made him more cautious. Which was why he was surprised to see the moonlight warrior laying in front of him instead of the Courier he’d been told was traveling their direction with a caravan. It had been many years since he’d first encountered her, and beneath the burns and bandages he still wore the scar she’d gifted him with. A deep gash on the side of his face that seemed very similar to the new one that she wore.  

Now he struggled with the inborn need to very _carefully_ smother her and claim she’d died from her wounds.

Just to be careful.

He closed his eyes and sent a prayer upwards. There was no guarantee that she would recognize him. He didn’t need to tell his name and his voice had changed when his lungs had been stained with the smoke of his own skin. Truthfully there was no reason to do so and killing her seemed not to be part of god’s plan, even if he wished to be _careful_. His fingers trailed out to touch the bruised skin around her eye as he mused to himself, maybe he could use her and her people’s presence to his own advantage. He remembered her tribe. One of the many that fell under the red tide of the legion’s rule. It was well to remember their ferocity and refusal to simply die and stay dead as was apparent by his meeting her again.

Follows-Chalk entered the cave and jigged nervously as he spoke, “The Frowning Man and the Scarred One from her group have returned with the hunting party and the items from the fallen caravan. No others survived the White Leg attacks.”

Joshua nodded and pushed from where he knelt. “That is fine. I will speak with them while we wait for her to wake.”

 

* * *

~~▄︻̷̿┻̿═━一~~

[Craig Boone]

 

Boone slept against the cave wall beside the straw bed that Na’ila had been lain on. Raul kept after him with reminders that it wasn’t his fault. Hell, it wasn’t her’s either. The little junkie shit with the broken pipboy had shot her as she wrestled with one of the attackers. Pity some White Legger prick was better with their aim-- though Boone didn’t feel any remorse about that one when it had smeared the life of the junkie across the cayon’s red dirt.

However, the bullet and momentum of the junkie’s last shot had carried Na’ila over the edge of the cliff and into the waters below. Boone had nearly gone mental trying to get to her, eventually he’d settled with tying a rope to the freshly dead bastard and wedging the body between some rocks. The rangers back home would have been proud. Ingenuity at its finest.

It had been pure luck that had saved Follows-Chalk from getting his stupid looking cap blown off with what little brains the boy seemed to have when he’d run up to them in the water. He and a hunting party of ‘Dead Horses’ hunters had been nearby and heard the fight. It was only their willingness to help and quick action that had saved her as red swirled into the clear water, and now they were in the debt of the tribe.

Not a place Boone wanted to be. Not with tribals. Not with anyone, really but especially not with tribals.

Aside from them all being a bunch of half-naked oddballs, their leader was a reclusive man that set off every internal alarm Boone had and left him feeling like there was an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Raul grumbled as he walked into the cave and squinted. The rain hadn’t let up outside but that didn’t stop the world outside from still being obnoxiously bright. The few times that Boone had left the cave had ruined his dark vision and he now, very stubbornly, refused to exit the darkness if it was unnecessary. The ghoul's voice rumbled as he felt along the cave wall and waited till his eyes adjusted, “Hey, Boss up yet?”

Boone shook his head and thumbed the bullets he’d been counting and checking over. It wouldn’t do to have his gun jam and most of the bullets they’d scavenged were little better than the rocks of the cursed canyon. Too much water and time had fossilized their innards and left them useless. Realizing that the old ghoul likely hadn't seen him he spoke up, "No"

Once Raul was close enough and Boone was sure he could see, he offered up a canteen. “Here. I put the last of the root into some water. Make it go farther.”

“Sure. Sure. ...She doesn’t need it?”

“Have you ever seen her use the root?” Boone asked with a narrow glare.

Raul settled beside him with a shrug. “Yeah? She uses it whenever a headache flares up. That bullet caused some fierce damage, _amigo_.”

Boone bit back his tired annoyance that he’d never noticed as he glanced down at her and asked, “headaches?”

“You’re telling me--” the ghouls eyes pinched with scepticism as he leveled a hard look at Boone-- “that with all the moonin you do, you haven’t noticed that she gets nearly crippling headaches?”

“No.” Boone answered cooly as he chose to ignore the Ghoul’s regular taunt as to his having a crush.

He didn’t. Case closed.

Raul made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort, “Pendejo. Why do you think we had to stop in that shit outpost for a few days last week? Or the day she almost refused to run that package to Primm? Why we sometimes only travel at night?”

Now that Boone was thinking about it, he _had_ noticed. It shamed him to admit it but he hadn’t bothered to try and think about the _whys_. Na’ila seemed to run to the beat of her own drum so he’d given up on trying to figure out her actions. He’s spent so much time pretending to understand when he realized that he didn’t even really try talking to her anymore. Every little silly grinned attempt she made was answered with a grunt from him and she’d slip away as quickly as she’s come.

Carefully putting aside the few useful bullets he’d picked out, he turned his attention to the ghoul. “Teach me how to do the hand signs.”

Raul’s glare was unamused as he flicked a hand-- two fingers meeting the thumb in a pinching motion. Boone glared back. He wasn’t sure what the gesture meant but he was almost willing to put caps down on it being a refusal or rude gesture.

“Pendejo,” Raul muttered as he closed his eyes.

Boone decided that perhaps he still hated the obnoxious ghoul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Author's notes:** aaah, I'm sorry. Life hit. Boom. Still picking up the proverbial wasteland of my life but !HARK! A Chapter! ....I know... It's short. But we're getting into the interesting tidbits now yeah? Also, I'd just like to take a moment to point out that Joshua's POV is probably, to date, one of my favorite pieces. I crack up everytime I read it. _Carefully._ HA.]


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